


Death Don't Discriminate

by Thesuncameouttoday



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle for the Dawn, F/M, Jon's a little OOC in this, Post Season 7, Season 8 introspection, Targling(?), because I made him quite optimistic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuncameouttoday/pseuds/Thesuncameouttoday
Summary: It was coming.Dany knew it, Jon knew it, the whole castle knew it.It was like this impending doom, a dreadful event they may all come to know in time as the apocalypse. Where a Dragon Queen and a White Wolf fought till their dying breaths.





	Death Don't Discriminate

**Author's Note:**

> Season 8 is gonna destroy us all. So here ya' go, the result of my emotional breakdown after watching the promo.

It was coming. 

Dany knew it, Jon knew it, the whole castle knew it. 

It was like this impending doom, a dreadful event they may all come to know in time as the apocalypse. Where a Dragon Queen and a White Wolf fought till their dying breaths. 

Jon had eaten with his siblings that night, whispering onto the skin of her shoulder the previous night that at least they’d have a lasting, good memory of him if he were to pass on the morrow. 

She’d eaten with Missandei, Grey Worm, and Tyrion. 

The feeling of sitting with them made her ache for their times in Meereen, where her only troubles were the rich and their petty politics. Tyrion had of course tried lightening the mood, telling them an intriguing story of a honeycomb and a jackass in a brothel. But she could see the sadness in his eyes as he gulped down two more glasses of Dornish wine, the creases of his forehead deepening as the already clouded sun rested on the horizon. 

Every time he thought they weren’t looking he’d eye them with a look of melancholy, like soldiers taking in the last glances of their friends before running into a suicidal battle. 

And Missandei, her lovely Missandei. 

When Dany had begged her after they’d reached Winterfell moons ago to leave, to take Grey Worm and live the rest of her life with piece in her homeland, it had shocked both of them. 

She had been combing her Naathi friend’s soft curls, braiding it against the nape of her neck when the thought suddenly seeped its way into her mind, ruining their content silence. 

A wave of panic filled her, like acid creeping into her brain as the image of her best friend, her sister lying on the muddy ground while the life was drained out of her. Her good, earnest, and wickedly intelligent friend. 

But all Missandei had done after Dany crouched in front of her knees, tears pooling around her chin before dripping onto her furs, was wipe them away gently, like her usual nurturing way. A determined look on her face. 

She’d caressed Dany’s forehead in her lap as she murmured how her place was at Dany’s side, at Grey Worm’s side. They both knew he’d only leave Dany’s forces as a dead man and nothing else. Defeated, Dany had grabbed Missandei’s soft face in her hands, whispered thunderously that if they were to survive, she herself would take Missandei to Naath. 

After scarfing down loafs of bread and nibbling on some dried fruits the suffocating feeling of this being a goodbye with her friends took over Dany, compelling her to make a fleeting excuse herself before their looks would make her break down once more. 

It was an odd feeling waiting for your death. Going about your day as if the impending doom would not sweep away all of their lives within the next two days. 

Dany stared at things longer, contemplated how small they were in the world. 

After reaching their room she paused at the nightstand, where her silver pin had been tossed probably the other night as Jon had swept her underneath his body. The three intertwined dragons twinkling against the flames of their hearth. 

Would anyone remember the Targaryens after this? The once mighty, powerful beings who had united seven great houses, who had people trembling just from the utterance of their names? 

Would anyone remember her and Jon? Two young lovers who met just before the apocalypse, who had tried their very best to make the world minutely better. 

Or would they all become mournful songs? The one’s merchants would sing in late nights by ports after one too many glugs of wine. 

Her eyes swept across the room to Jon’s armour, the one Gendry had made with dragon glass similar to hers. Dany remembered how desire pooled in the pits of her belly when she helped him put it on for the first time. How Jon’s beautiful and soft curls sorely stood out against the ugly need of the thick armour around his shoulders and chest.

The love of her life, the pure, young man whose heart was so noble and full of compassion sometimes it rendered her breathless. If she died tomorrow, she’d greet Ned Stark, thank him for raising such a wonderful man who had opened the heart she feared would be barren till her last breath. A man who never once looked down on her. 

Dany lied on top of their furs, twisting into the softness of the blankets. It smelled like them, like Ghost who most likely had dozed off that afternoon on their bed. 

It smelled like home. 

And suddenly a dam broke, the surface crackling and groaning apart till the entire thing shattered into bits. 

Daenerys heaved into the furs, a sob shaking her very bones. It felt like a tremor she’d begged not to erupt had overwhelmed her tired body, wrapping her achingly with such terror. 

She didn’t want to die, not when she’d just gotten a home. The thought was so paralysing that she felt her fingers shake, seizing against her coat. 

It wasn’t fair dammit. 

Her entire existence was weaved with a thick thread of loneliness, so why was it that when she felt like maybe she’d just found people who loved her and who cared for her, they were going to be snatched away within the blink of an eye. 

Her Missandei, her Grey Worm, her Arya, her Jorah, her Tyrion, her sons, her _Jon_.

Jon, the name rung in her mind like Mirri Maz Duur’s haunting chants as she burned. 

How could she confess to him the way he’d revived her heart? Made her feel like a green girl again as he touched her body and soul in ways she’d only read in frivolous novels. 

Why did she marry him? Why oh _why_ , did she do that to herself? As if repeating some sacred vows by a tree would protect their love from being tainted by those eerie blue-starred eyes. 

She had been rendered weak by his soft eyes, as lonely as hers, to be able to push him away before things began affecting her heart. It would’ve been easy on Dragonstone, to allow him to mine the dragon glass and be done with it. 

And what did this love leave her with anyways? Just a debilitating fear for more people than she could count. 

Jon had found her sometime later, heart dropping into his stomach at her shaking form. 

“Dany.” He rushed to her side swiftly, dropping the blue rose he’d retrieved from the glass garden, turning her shoulders on the bed till her wet face was in his line of vision. 

“Dany?” he repeated, slowly took in her state. The red tint to her swollen cheeks and wet, bitten lips faltering his words. His heart filled with an ache that he’d only felt as Olly looked him in the eyes before plunging a dagger into him. 

She opened her mouth to speak but gave up after a moment’s effort, looking away with shame. He didn’t need any more reason to be worried about her, as if he didn’t wake up almost every night screaming and sobbing into the darkness the names of his siblings and her. 

Dany felt his hand wrap around her chin, his knee brushing against her curled body, as he maneuvered her meet his eyes. “It-it’s nothing Jon.” She brushed off his hand, trying to make herself look a little decent at least. 

His brows furrowed, a spark of anger sweeping his face before he sighed softly. Rather than interrogating her into speaking, he simply lifted her up into a seated position, halting Dany’s hiccups. 

The rough skin of his fingers swept across her back as he kneed his away behind her on the mattress and began pulling on the clasps of her coat silently. He had done it so many times, urgently in random storage rooms in Winterfell, and painstakingly slowly and seductively during their last days on the boat to White Harbour. 

Before her breath had evened out, he was pushing the stiff coat off her skin, nudging her thighs till it crumpled onto the edge of their bed. 

She could feel his hot breath on the exposed skin of her arms and neck, goosebumps erupting on her milky skin whilst thimble fingers pulled on the two strings holding her shift together, followed by the band of her small clothe. 

The logs popped and crackled within their hearth, echoing in the silent chambers as Jon rose up from her side to quickly peel off his own layers till Dany felt her chest flush at the sight of his naked form. 

“Jon-”

“Shh,” he palmed the skin of her hips, pushing her up the mattress until her head fell onto the feathered-pillow. His fingers working her thighs apart as he crawled onto his knees in the space between them, his upper thighs flush against the backs of hers. 

Instinctively she wrapped her small fingers around the loosened bedsheets, assuming his were to travel down her belly before torturously making her moan and drip with honey. 

But he only weaved his fingers under her body only to tug on the thick blankets, shuffling on his knees as the blankets wrapped around his back, making a tent around them. He looked in her eyes sadly for a moment before stretching out his legs between hers, melting their bodies. 

Jon’s soft curls tickled her neck when he rested his head against the valley between her breasts, palms moving her legs to rest by the sides of his thighs. Finally, he stopped shuffling. 

“I will not say goodbye to you,” Jon murmured, breath fanning the tops of her breasts. His voice was shaky, coated with an almost boyish stubbornness and will. “This will not be our last day together.” 

Dany opened her mouth to speak bluntly, as she often did. Ready to remind him that the pain they had each experience in their lifetime rendered his statement foolish and a lie. 

But his heart was fluttering against her own, his plush lips peppering her soft skin, almost like a silent rebuttal to the words he knew she’d counteract with.

However, that wasn’t the reason she stopped herself from truly speaking; rather, it was the soft shaking his shoulders, the tears puddling onto the curves of her rising and falling breasts. He’d come to some dreadful realization, Dany assumed, after his palms ran across the planes of her back, his form freezing for two beats before the sobs racked him as well. 

The action making her feel helpless, like a mother consoling her scared child who’d woken up from a nightmare. Dany bit her lip to stop her own croak, her hands weaving through his soft, not yet tainted locks. 

They stayed like that for a while. Trying to memorize the other’s touch, the feeling of their beating heart and soft skin. He whispered Dany onto every inch of skin his lips pressed against, like a prayer, like her mind did whenever his name was mentioned. 

And soon they were making love, slowly, then roughly, pleading to themselves and the gods above to not harm the other, to make sure that this was not the last time they would be able to draw a gasp or moan out of the other. Jon’s watery eyes met hers every time a particularly harsh thrust caused her head to fall back, or when she gasped for him to end her misery with the pressed of a swirling thumb. A look bursting with devotion and love, lodging her heart right into her aching throat. 

But like always it became soft again, gentle, like stray petals dancing in the air and wind till they met the ground. 

Her arms wrapped around his sweaty neck desperately when Jon’s large palms on her thighs pushed her deeper into his lap, making her breath hitch. He ran healing hands up and down her back, feeling her long silver tresses tickle the backs of his fingers. 

Her moans vibrated onto the skin of his shoulder before she finally melted into his embrace, ragged and heartbroken. Her thighs clenching almost painfully against his sides when she let out a song-like cry. 

Before long Jon was there too, head hitting the headboard as stars and spots dotted his hazy vision. He tiredly murmured on her collarbone that he often wondered what the gods were thinking making a being such as herself, a goddess, an enigma that had his heart right in her small palm. How someone so outwardly could choose someone as plain as himself. 

They smelled of sweat and pleasure, lips swollen, and bodies exhausted as he moved them down onto the length of the mattress, feeling particularly possessive when she attempted to move away. 

“I’m just getting some water,” she laughed huskily, throat overused. Reluctantly they pulled away as she gulped down a few glasses to quench her parched throat before Jon pawed her back into his embrace. 

They pretended like it was any other day, like they’d rise to only try calming the dissent of the Northern lords before lying beside each other again. 

He pretended, as he hitched her legs around him once again, that he wasn’t counting down his final hours of drawing breath. 

And Dany pretended like she didn’t have a duty to confess the fact that she had been feeling flutters in her belly for almost three moons now. That her body was swelling, her belly growing right underneath his nose, growing with a babe made of a miracle. The one she’d brushed off as her eating too much at dinner when he questioned her small bump. A babe she ached to see with his dark curls and brown eyes, squalling its way into this world. 

She knew it would only hurt him more, make his pain and fears worsened. 

So, she pretended. 

And when their door knocked, reality chipping its way into their love and possible chances of living as husband and wife like any other two people, Dany pretended like she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

Even when they helped each other clasp on armour, wiping away tears flutily as more gushed onto their skin. Even when he whispered onto the skin of her neck that he’d protect her till the ends of the earth, and that any fucker could try. 

When she felt her babe swirl within the confines of her belly, as Jon let go of her hand devastatingly. Her black-scaled son soared her into the sky, letting her gaze upon the hundreds of thousands of undead, mindless creatures making their way towards Winterfell. Dany closed her eyes, feeling the rolling tears freeze against her cheek as they rose higher and higher into the grey night. And she prayed for once, to herself maybe, or to some higher being if it existed. 

_Protect my love, protect my children, protect my home_ , _please_. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is @thesuncameouttoday, if you want sum chit chat on angst.


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